You are not on the list

You don't read two books a week

This is also why I lost interest

Your retorts are at best 5 years old

oh wow.
your butthurt ought to be real bad, right?

oh wow.
your butthurt ought to be real bad, right?

lol let her be. there are guys who read more books than her but she still deny it insisting that she is far more superior.

such supercilious goddess. good luck finding future companion 

hmm where do i fit in your list?

lol let her be. there are guys who read more books than her but she still deny it insisting that she is far more superior.

such supercilious goddess. good luck finding future companion 

you look a little like mary
right or not patienceGNR 

Mary

It's an analogy

Like

I'm tired of cooking for someone who can't wash dishes in return

be a comatose or paraplegic women bed ridden for life

i do everything for u. including wash you after your spillage. 

Electronic book for dissertation
Physical book for show
Meaning
I got three formats of the same book

unrequited love does not die; it's only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded. For some unfortunates, it turns bitter and mean, and those who come after pay the price for the hurt done by the one who came before.

First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which had lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world — a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring — this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth.

Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else — but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.

It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain

Supermoto's posts are always so fucking cringe-worthy

I never know someone read 2 book in a week.. who the puck do that?  I mean 1 book only have 10 page ke?

Why this thread still alive?

Because people like you keep posting

ahh.. you're back to this avatar. the previous one was rather nice